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A Very Specific Set Of Circumstances
Cursing had never really been… something that was typically associated with Plue. Not that she had never ever cursed before in her life, but she’d been pretty efficient at cutting out the cursing when she’d moved in with Aaron and Anna (because Anna had been a young child at the time and it was general decency to not influence a young child with swearing, apparently). Even on the battlefield she didn’t really get excessive, which was weird, because nothing really beats a good f-bomb when you impale a stromling that was seconds away from impaling you. But as a pretty consistent general rule, Plue just made do with restraint, substitute words, and creative insults. (For instance, she’d once told someone that they were impossible to underestimate.) Doesn’t mean she’d never let the habit drop, though. As it turned out. One time, Dante had been stabbed right through the leg, and then surrounded by people disarmingly adamant on kicking the snot out of him. Because, you know, what else to people find themselves doing on a Saturday night? Anyway, that had happened, and then- Plue had stepped in front of him, whirling her sword in a wide arc. As she wave it, blood flew from wounds on her arms, but she ignored that in favour of cutting down three of his attackers where they stood and forcing the rest to back away. Dimly, he noted that she wasn’t holding her bow, and she was out of arrows- “Get the fuck away from him!” She hissed. It was so jarring he would have jumped if he’d had the energy to do so. Her voice was venom-laden and potent, it was scary. He’d admit that, and he was in love with her! She arced the sword again in a wild wave. Everyone backed away again. He eased a sigh of relief as they began to trickle away from the fight. One, probably the bravest of the bunch, stepped forward, but the next second, Plue had the blade of her sword pointed right at his throat. She was holding it with one hand, defensively indicating to Dante with the other. She actually growled. “I said;” She trailed the sword up to the man’s chin. “get. The fuck. Away.” He backed off. The others stepped away,and then they broke and fled in, like one unit. Plue spend several moments just standing in the same position, panting, like what had happened hadn’t caught up to her. Then she turned to Dante. Her hair was out of its ponytail, the bangs falling in and around her face. Her cheek looked like it had been slashed open, with two great bloody cashes going down it right to her chin. There was a stream of blood trickling out of her mouth, too. Dante wasn’t sure whether to be super concerned, or fall even further in love with her. He ended up doing both. “You okay?” She had the gall to ask him. He sighed through his nose. “I think I should be asking you that question.” He pointed out. She rolled her eyes. “Flesh wound.” She said, probably talking about the cheek gashes. Her gaze flicked down to his leg. “Can’t say the same for you.” “Hey, this is a flesh wound!” Dante folded his arms and pretended like he could stand up and was just choosing to sit on the floor. “It’s just a, uh, a lot of flesh got wounded.” “Oh my God, you’re so full of shit.” She said, surprising him even more. “Just let me-” She peered down at it. “You’re not a medical professional, darl.” He reminded her gently. “Just a serial swearer, apparently.” “Hey, I was under the impression that people swore in stressful situations.” She said. “Excuse me for conforming for a moment.” Dante snorted. “Please. We get into life-threatening danger every week. You know that.” Plue’s grip on her sword tightened. “But it’s never normally so blatant that your life is in danger - and it’s not always your life that’s in danger.” He let her have that one. (After, of course, falling for her just a little bit more.) Category:Stories Category:Short Stories